


Suits and Scarves

by junes_discotheque



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junes_discotheque/pseuds/junes_discotheque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony looks good in a tux, Loki looks good in a suit, and Tony finds a better use for Loki's scarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suits and Scarves

Normally, Tony thinks, it’s supposed to be a big deal when the villain shows up for a rematch. At the very least, there’s supposed to be a monologue and some posing until one of them gets knocked on his ass. But, as in all things, Loki seems entirely uninterested in convention.

He turns up while Tony’s on the red carpet. There’s a benefit for hungry children with cancer in Africa or something—he was a little busy setting up an elaborate scheme to make Steve think the microwave was a food replicator when Pepper announced it—but it has his name plastered all over it and he’s grinning at cameras and wearing a bow tie. It doesn’t really matter if he remembers what the benefit’s for or not.

Probably.

He hopes there’s an open bar.

He’s in the middle of charming the pants of some Wall Street Journal douche (literally—there’s a tiny sheen of drool at the corner of his mouth) when he feels an arm snake around his waist. Tony forces a smile and turns.

And promptly falls over.

Or he would, if Loki wasn’t holding him up.

Tony’s hand flies to his earpiece. Loki catches his wrist. “Now, none of that,” he whispers silky-smooth into Tony’s ear. “I’m not here for destruction, and I’d prefer not to get my suit dirty. At least, not yet.” He tightens his arm around Tony’s waist and grins at the cameras. “Make your excuses.”

He starts, but Loki grows impatient before the first word is out of Tony’s mouth. He slides his hand down Tony’s back to rest just above the curve of his ass, and steers him away from the crowd.

They slip into a dark corner. Loki never stops talking, commenting on the décor, on Tony’s guests, on the difficulties of finding a parking space (not that Tony thinks Loki has a car or any idea how to drive one) in a steady, beating murmur. He pushes Tony against the wall and holds him there, one hand on his shoulder.

Tony can’t breathe.

Loki’s in the same suit he wore during his _display_ in Germany. Crisp lines, fit snugly around his lithe frame, and that ridiculous scarf around his neck. Tony raises his fingers slightly to tug at the fringe, and Loki allows it, smiling indulgently.

“This is a terrible idea,” Tony groans.

“Isn’t it always?” Loki responds. He places both hands on Tony’s shoulders now, running his thumbs across the expensive fabric of his tux, and ducks his head to bite at Tony’s neck. “You won’t resist,” he whispers. “I do enjoy our games.”

Tony wiggles out of Loki’s grasp, and Loki allows it. “Then work for it,” he says.

He leaves Loki standing in the shadows, and approaches the bar. He lets his fingers trail effortlessly over the bare shoulders of a pretty young woman in a sapphire dress. She’s a Biochemistry Ph.D. candidate, clearly bright, and as she acts like all Tony’s bullshitting about the finer points of his new reactor design is endlessly fascinating (even when she pokes at his rather terrible laymen’s terms), he sees nothing but sincerity in her.

A year ago, he would have ended the night with her in his bed. She’s smart and sexy and she pushes him just enough that Tony knows she’d probably be fantastic. As it is, he’s half-tempted.

But it’s not _enough_ ; her little smiles aren’t the vicious, sharp-toothed grin of a partner who could literally rip his chest open; her faint touches don’t have the edge of a threat-promise- _need,_ and he wouldn’t wake in the morning with strange bruises and have to arrive at breakfast claiming a barfight and watch worried expressions flit across his friends’ faces.

“Excuse me,” a voice at his side says. Tony jumps ten feet in the air and glares at his Apparating—at Loki. “I apologize. But I must borrow Mr. Stark, here. I have a… _particularly_ interesting investment opportunity.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Look, pal, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Not the greatest way to win me over, and anyway, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, I think you are,” Loki says. His eyes glitter with something, and Tony barks out a laugh. It’s cut short when Loki dips down to murmur into the curve of his neck, “ _I’ll make it worth your while_.”

Tony’s hand falters on his glass. He gulps, hard, and knows Loki saw it—can see Loki’s triumphant smirk. _Well, it won’t be triumphant for long._

He buys the woman another round, makes his excuses, and leaves her to try her luck with an approaching alt-rocker.

“Wise decision, Mr. Stark.”

“I like to think I know a good prospect when I see one.” Loki’s hand is back on Tony’s waist, steering him through the crowd and up the stairs to the roof.

“Thinking of pushing me off?”

“Maybe.” Loki’s eyes glint brightly. The spotlights wave around behind him, giving him an unworldly presence despite the clean suit and lack of horned helmet. Tony can’t help staring at him, and he’s _still_ staring when Loki hooks a finger under his chin, tilts his head up and brushes their lips together.

Tony allows it, wraps his hand around Loki’s scarf and hangs on as Loki deepens the kiss, thoroughly devouring Tony’s mouth. He moans in disappointment when Loki pulls away, smirking.

“So easy,” he murmurs. “If I asked you to kneel for me, here on this roof, you would.”

“Wouldn’t you rather take us to a hotel first?” Tony asks breathlessly. “Seriously. Hotel. And I will.”

“Can’t resist, can you?” Loki says. He brushes Tony’s lips with his thumb. “How long have you been mine, Tony Stark? Since I threw you out your window?”

“You’ve been mine since I knocked you on your ass,” Tony points out. _Personal._ All of it. Tony had defeated Loki, and in retaliation Loki had commandeered Stark Tower, and then Tony convinced Thor to use the special cuffs and gag he’d been working on _especially_ for his little brother, and then Loki had escaped Asgard and enchanted JARVIS with the personality of a thirteen-year-old girl, and then Tony _borrowed_ Loki’s helmet and wore it around for awhile, like a medal, until finally Loki cornered him in his bedroom, and Tony knelt (but Loki screamed).

That’s where it started.

And now, here they are again.

In Tony’s bedroom, in the _Tower,_ not in a hotel, and Tony supposes he only has himself to blame for that one, for letting on how much he hates the reminder that they’re _secret_ and _forbidden_ and _one day this is going to blow up in our faces_.

But then Loki’s fingers are at Tony’s throat, undoing his bowtie, and Tony lets him; lets him toss the fabric to the floor and tug Tony in for another kiss, stripping off his jacket and his waistcoat and his shirt, and when he pulls back his face is illuminated with the blue glow of Tony’s arc reactor.

Loki strips off his coat and coat and shirt and scarf, and while they’re both fumbling with their shoes and pants, Tony picks the scarf off the ground.

He lets Loki push him onto the bed, lets him manhandle him up to the headboard, laughing and wriggling a bit just so Loki will press him down harder, get that just-this-side-of-dangerous scowl on his face, look at Tony like he wants nothing more than to _obliterate_ him. He groans softly and arches his neck up to kiss him.

Then he has Loki on his back, the scarf wrapped around his wrists and tied to the headboard, and Loki’s staring at him like he’s not quite sure what happened. Then he struggles—and settles—and looks at Tony like he’s seeing something new.

“Hey there,” Tony says, grinning.

Loki raises an eyebrow. “You think you would order me?”

“Nope,” Tony says. “Not gonna order you to do anything. Except maybe lie there and not make the scarf disappear, or go poof yourself, or kill me.”

Loki laughs at the last one. “Oh, Tony Stark,” he sighs. “If I wished to kill you, I would have done so when you were first naked beside me.”

Tony doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he says nothing. He runs his fingers down Loki’s side, enjoying the little gasps and moans the god makes, whispering dark promises into the air. _Make you feel it, make you want it, you’ve had me long enough, now I have you, have you where I want you, could make you do anything and you would, because I demanded it, because you serve me._

It’s not Tony’s usual thing, making people bend to his will, but Loki is _different._ Loki doesn’t bend, he _snaps_ , breaks apart and shatters and lets Tony hold him as the pieces mold back together.

There’s lube in the bedside drawer. He forgoes the condom; Loki’s magic protects them, or so Loki says, and while Tony doesn’t quite believe him, he _obtained_ a sample of the god’s blood and ran tests himself.

His hand slicks over Loki’s hard cock, and Loki looks at him with confusion. Tony smirks, digs his nails in just above Loki’s nipples, then moves his fingers to circle his hole. One, slow, _burning,_ and he sighs. Loki’s eyes widen. Tony slides another finger in, drops his head and groans, moves them in and out and watches Loki’s face through his lashes.

Loki squirms on the bed. That’s enough, Tony decides. It isn’t, really, but he can’t wait any longer—he needs Loki in him _now._

It hurts. Loki’s not small by any means—he’s long and thick and he _stretches_ Tony as Tony digs in his heels and lowers himself slowly onto the god’s cock. Loki tugs at his restraints, looks desperate to touch Tony. To wrap his hands around Tony’s waist and fuck him, maybe roll him under and pound hard until Tony can’t walk right for a week.

But he can’t, and with each inch Tony takes into himself, Loki’s expression becomes more and more furious. And more and more _desperate._ He _needs._

Tony groans and bottoms out. Sweat drips into his eyes, and he shakes his head, damp strands of hair plastered to his face.

Then, he _fucks._

He raises himself so Loki’s almost all the way out, and slams back down as hard as he can and _shouts_. Fuck. Sparks fly in front of his eyes, and he does it again, and again, and _again_ until Loki’s crying out, hips jerking up to meet Tony’s thrusts, hands curled around the scarf for leverage.

Loki can’t touch, but Tony can, and he twists and pulls at Loki’s nipples, enjoying the different sounds he can wring from the desperate god. Moans and cries and half-sobs and yelps, like a symphony, and Tony wonders if he could record the sounds Loki makes and sell the albums. It’d go quadruple-platinum, he’s positive of it.

But these sounds are for _him,_ and the thought of sharing them  sets Tony’s teeth on edge. He slams down even harder, wringing a choked whimper from Loki’s lips. He’s almost there, so _close,_ and he won’t touch his cock—wants to show Loki what he can do, wants to come without it, from nothing but fucking himself on Loki’s cock and the sounds Loki makes.

He rides faster, slamming himself back over and over until finally he comes, clenching hard around Loki and spilling onto his stomach. Loki’s hips jerk as well, and Tony feels Loki’s release filling him hot and fast. It leaks out of him, sliding down Loki’s balls, and Tony squirms as Loki softens inside him.

Tony collapses on Loki’s chest, reaching up to untie a scarf that isn’t there. He thinks about scolding Loki, but realizes he doesn’t mind that much.

Loki’s fingers card through Tony’s hair, and he rests his head on Loki’s shoulder.

“Sleep, Tony Stark,” Loki whispers. “Tomorrow I plan to be dreadfully mischievous, and you must be in full strength to stop me.”

Tony huffs a laugh against his skin, and falls asleep to the sound of Loki’s heartbeat.


End file.
